Valencia, City of Dreams Come True: The Trip of a Lifetime, Part 10

Line up here to stand in the sand!
Photo by Jessica Knauss 

Time moved strangely the afternoon of May 26, 2016, and Stanley and I quickly felt it was time to get back on the subway. We looked around at people—how many of them were going to the concert? When we got out at the bullring, a line had already formed with hundreds of people, enough to wrap around the bullring and down the street that’s between it and the train station. We’d been so nervous about being in such a big arena with so many people, but now that we weren’t going to have to wait in line at all I was even more nervous! The excitement of achieving this dream that had been so rudely snatched away from me!  

Just a few people in line. Photo by Jessica Knauss 

We went to the ticket booth area where we’d gone in before and called up our friend Marta. It was already much easier to do so; she started calling me guapa and I tried to pick up normal Spanish phone habits. Miguel, the bodyguard from before, came out to get us. 

“¿Qué tal?” 

“¡Bien, muy bien!” 

We went through the gate, as important as you please, this time going up the stairs to get into the tendido, the riser benches. Stanley had no interest in standing for five or six hours and I can't blame him. Miguel took us where he knew we would get the best seats. Wow, were they ever.

Still sunny and the place to ourselves, with the beverage station 

Miguel said we could sit anywhere we wanted in a certain section, then left to prepare to follow Manolo while he jumped around in the audience. (I’ve since seen him in videos and pictures, so serious! Oh, the questions I would’ve asked if I’d known exactly what he does.) We sat in the first row of benches, directly across from the stage, next to the front door opening where people come through to get into the sand. The only thing in front of us was railing to keep us from falling. 

The beverage people were set up at the barrier the bullfighters leap over when chased. They were getting briefed and psyched up and one of them asked is if this was going to be a private concert. We were the only people in the audience! How we were doing? he asked. Awesome, really. The anticipation was so sweet, we didn't even need any drinks. 

An hour later, they started letting people in. They admitted groups in at different times, and so in spite of the long queue, the bullring filled slowly. The places next to Stanley and me filled right up because they were so desirable. Over the sound system, they started playing the first few songs from two albums, one by Carmen and one by Ricardo Marín. When the arena seemed about half full, Carmen walked through the sand. People were taking pictures with her and shouting her name from the tendido. “I didn’t know she was that recognizable,” Stanley said.

Carmen García with fans. Photo by Jessica Knauss 

The next time her album came on, I said, “That’s her!” When we listened to her album later, Stanley thought it was fantastic, and that it was kind of unfair to have so much talent in one family. 

Great seats, oh yeah! 

Everyone was so happy—a true communal experience. A large beach ball made its buoyant way across the bullring. People were bursting out into flamenco clapping and doing the wave. As it got closer to the start of the show, some people did the “Man-O-lo” chant. A lone guy sat next to Stanley and sat there eating multicolored popcorn without offering any, and in the end he got really excited and was dancing, knocking Stanley’s cell phone so I had to use YouTube’s shakiness corrector when I uploaded the videos later. I waited until it seemed like everyone was in their place, and then visited the souvenir table.

I looked over the merch and wanted everything, anything to feel as if I could take this happiness with me. Knowing that was impossible, I bought only five items, most amazingly, a demented lollipop. It’s the graphic from the cover of Todo es ahora. When the album first came out, many talk show hosts guessed what the artwork was supposed to be, and in an interview with Manolo, Buenafuente guessed, “It’s a demented lollipop.” Manolo said, “That must be it.” It struck me as hilarious. 

Demented lollipops!! 

I got back in plenty of time, exhilarated with my booty and with the fact that this thing was happening! No gumption trap, no distance, and no petty thief managed to get in my way.

Can you find us? It's filled to the rafters! 

It started with a surrealist film featuring a lot of eggs and some chickens. Mass production and nature contrasted in the scenery. Then the lights go low and the American musicians come out and play a long, almost psychedelic introduction, during which the man himself walks out with no lights on him and stands stock-still until you think you can't stand it anymore, until just the right moment. 

"¡Tú me obligaste a sentirme bien en soledad!" Heaven in Valencia.
Photo by Jessica Knauss 

Then it all happens: lights, music, Manolo’s voice—“Tú me obligaste a sentirme bien en soledad”—with a rock-star swing of the mic stand and stamp of the feet. It was everything coming together in the right place at the right time. Stanley said it was an effective opening because when Manolo started to sing, a tear came to Stanley’s eye. I was so touched that the moment meant so much to both of us. I hadn’t been the biggest fan of that first song, but after seeing this, I recognize its amazing qualities. For instance, it hits the sweet spot in Manolo's voice over and over. Or maybe they’re all the sweet spot!

The sound was incredible at our seats. We were all, thousands of people, submerged in this experience, without it hurting our ears. I couldn’t hear people singing along like you can in the YouTube cell phone videos afterward. I found myself singing along—it was an obligation!—and cheering and shouting and all the algarabía de alegría. A wonderful loss of control, a surrender to the moment. Stanley and I got to sit there with no one standing in our way. We took some videos with the sensation simultaneously that the moment was eternal and that we needed to record everything because its end was imminent. And that they were the best videos ever taken at any concert, except for the fact that Manolo likes to go off randomly into the crowd. It’s terribly exciting, but you can’t follow him with the camera to save your life! Sweet madness. Sometimes I would watch the moment and just hope the camera was capturing some of it. 

Here you can see the agile person dressed all in black who
captured images for the giant screens. 

With a lot of premeditation, thinking we would be last in line and up in the top gradas (nosebleed section), we’d brought binoculars from the States. I might have used them more if it hadn’t been a pain to take off my glasses and keep track of them while using the binocs. We didn’t strictly need the binoculars, in the end, because we were plenty close. Crazy Manolo was in good form—where does he get the energy? He threw the mic stand in the air. Stanley said he was going to get injured doing that kind of thing. But he’s been doing it for thirty years, so he understands the physics. Even some men were shouting “¡guapo!” 

Manolo would often talk with the audience, and I think those were my favorite moments. Before “Estoy alegre,” he declared that being happy is the most important thing. There was a fireside chat about people with diseases you can’t see, and lots of current Spanish politics before “Subo escalas, bajo escalas.” 

“All the good songs,” Stanley said at one point. And it’s true, song after song of wonderfulness, no clunkers ever, and what excellent playing, and that voice never even sounded tired. 

Intermission

During an intermission while they changed the set instruments, they showed pictures of the audience on the monitors with some kiss cam moments. I’m not sure how long it lasted, but people got clapping and chanting again, always wanting to see their Manolo. They don’t know he belongs to me and I was just lending him. (wink) 

Starting the second half with the flamenco version of "En el batir de los mares"
complete with acoustic guitars and Juan Carlos García on cajón.
Photo by Stanley Coombs

The second half brought out the Spanish musicians who always tour with Manolo and are recognizable in their own right. It also featured the earlier albums and even a few old gems from before Manolo went solo. People can never get enough of their favorite old songs, it seems, so this was where people really lost it. 

My favorite from before the latest album, "Rosa de Alejandría," surprised me because the audience went almost as crazy as I did for it. I had no idea it was one of those crowdpleasers. What a thrill to share my little song!

Before "Somos levedad," Manolo talked about how good it feels to sing, and oh did it ever, to sing the ahaaahaahahh part with thousands of people.

"Prefiero el trapecio" was the pretend end. Manolo introduced the band and said good night, and after a bit of screaming and chanting, he came back out and asked if we want more. “¿Seguuuuurrrrooooooos?” (Are you suuuurre?) We convinced him easily. 

I tried to film "Sobre el oscuro abismo"—which I later found out has a verb conjugation error in it! But it was utter chaos with Manolo all over the crowd.

By the time they get to "Viernes," everyone was totally nuts, onstage and off. The backup singers took over the vocals for some of the song so Manolo could fly all over the place.

"A San Fernando" was an opportunity for massive improvised solos and general yelling and screaming that was completely different in every concert. 

Oh, that there could be such joy in the world. 

Taking their bows with a few laughs 

After more than three hours of music and several changes of shirts as Manolo soaked them through with sweat and passion, high on performance and possibly a little on the pot we smelled, Manolo brought both bands on the stage. They were being silly, and when people were already filing out, he gave his valediction, “¡Buenas noches, haced el amor!” (Good night, make love!) We were to see the same human being again in two days. What an amazing sensation, to be winding up the best thing you’ve ever done and know there’s more to come.

All these people left before we did. 

We had to wait to get out, and by the time we were on the street, all the taxis were gone from the stand. Stanley saw some people snagging the taxis farther up the street, which meant the people waiting to do it legit at the stand would be waiting a long time. So we went up even father than those naughty people and before I had time to think we would have to walk back, we were in a cab. Where were we going? Hmm… We were going the right direction, and we glimpsed the hotel out the window, and I said, there it is, and that was when the driver turned off to who knew where. Um, it’s back there. Sorry, sorry! We're just so tired. We walked into the lobby and there were people milling around, but it was quieter than anything before in the history of the world. We took sleeping pills, but I still don’t think I slept!

And there you have it. I hope this suggests something about what it’s like to want something for a really long time, and get it, and have it be even better than you could've dreamed. It was that way when I met Stanley, too. I knew I wanted true love, but had no idea what it looked like until he showed me every minute of every day we were together. 

We'd built up this high for the whole trip, and having reached the summit, it didn't come down until I was on the nasty plane rides home. I can see how the feeling might be addictive, and why some people go to every concert they can. 

Next time: Sevilla! Three loves in one place! Another unique concert! 

Catch up with the rest of the posts in this series here. 

Valencia, Where the Oranges Come From: The Trip of a Lifetime, Part 9

Valencia is where the oranges come from. 

This post and the following two contain extreme instances of joy. It is hard to write about joy unironically in English. Please bear with me while I labor to find appropriate words. 

Our first day in Valencia was very glamourous. We dropped off our clothes at a cleaner. We'd only packed enough for half the trip, and had meant to get the wash done in Barcelona, or Morella, or Peñíscola. Valencia was our last chance before utter stinkage. The cleaner was cheaper than hotel service and there is no place to do your own laundry. Believe me, we looked. 

Don't cross (the line) unless the train is stopped. Valencian language in action!  

Valencia has its own language, which has a lot of similarity to Catalan, but the speakers have a much more casual approach to it. I didn’t hear much of it spoken, just the written signage and place names, even there in the language's capital. 

We decided to check out the bullring, the site where all my dreams would come true because we had tickets to a Manolo García concert there for the very next day! We always liked the train, so we flaunted everyone's advice to take the bus, only to find out that the last metro left from the bullring at 11:31 p.m. on Thursdays. That sounded much too early to enjoy the entire concert, and we racked our brains about what to do even as we traveled. 

Photo by Jessica Knauss 

You come out of the station and the bullring is right there. It’s a lovely red brick structure, and from the outside it gives a great colosseum impression. And we heard Manolo García's crew doing sound tests! Hola hola, un dos tres… We knew already that the stage would be decorated with thousands of plants and greenery—Manolo's way of calling attention to how little we see of living things in our daily lives. We could see in one of the doors and they were setting up the plants already! I started to fully realize that this thing was going to happen. We hung out a bit, and people passed by asking what was going on. "Mañana, Manolo García, sí sí!" I answered. What a thrill to have people know who I was talking about—and be obviously excited about it! 

The excitement builds... 

Our most memorable meal in Valencia happened that evening at the Burger King. It was our cheapest meal of the trip, and we were both impressed with the one guy working at the entire restaurant. His name was Gonzalo, like two of the good guys in Seven Noble Knights. He never lost his cool even though he was doing everything, from taking orders to wiping down the entire place, to making drink and dessert orders and ferrying them to tables. I couldn't take my eyes off him because he looked familiar. "He looks just like Jude Law," Stanley said. He really did. 

The next morning, we were talking about how we should rest up and when we should retrieve our laundry… and I got an email from Carmen! She told us Manolo wanted to invite us to the sound check that day and ... greet each other, if I'm translating literally. I couldn't fathom the meaning of the phrase because my mind wasn't capable of imagining something so simple and so wonderful. Of course this threw everything into nervous panic happiness mode. I wrote that we would be there and wait for someone to tell us where to go, and she wrote back giving me the phone number of a Marta, who would tell us. 

I read this as we should call when we got to the bullring, but Stanley wanted to avoid using the cell phone because of reasonable money concerns. We tried to use the hotel phone, only to find that we couldn't get an outside line. Calling people I don't know terrifies me, and doing so in Spanish only compounds the issue, and now I was using the cell phone and would have to keep it short? I screwed up my courage with a little tough love from Stanley (“Do you want this to happen? It’s going to be worth it!”). When she picked up, I said, “Hola Marta, soy Jessica, la chica de Estados Unidos.” She took it from there. She’s Manolo’s manager in the sense of getting his movements and welfare organized, and there’s no way anyone else in such a position would be so kind to fans. She told me to be at the bullring at 1 p.m. and call her so she could send someone to pick us up to take us inside. The emotions of these moments: surprise, joy, nerves, uncertainty blessed with a sense of adventure… We were supposed to pick up our laundry that afternoon, but we guessed we’d have to do it after we freaking met Manolo García! Besides, we were both wearing new clothes saved for just such an occasion. 

We used our award-winning-design metro pass to get to the bullring like we’d already practiced. I felt an unfamiliar sense of privilege descend over us. We were traveling into a different reality. Never before had life seemed so right, so much as if we were in the right place at the right time, as if we mattered in the world. 

Tantalizing glimpses. Photo by Jessica Knauss 

We stood at Door 19, which is across from the stage, and listened to the Spanish musicians do another sound check. (This tour had two halves, one with an American band of heart attack–inducing fame, but they must've finished already.) There were a few other people hanging around outside. I called Marta as soon as we got there and she said something about she and Manolo not having arrived yet. So we waited and hoped she would call back. Song after awesome song rang out, instrumental and sometimes with the band filling in the vocals. I held Stanley close to me and tried not to strangle him with my excitement. 

“I used to listen to this album on repeat when I was working at the Boston University library,” I explained, and then, “This album was on repeat while I worked on my Iowa thesis... studying in Salamanca...” and of course, all of them were on repeat in the car with Stanley! These songs define a life. Hearing them live, even without Manolo's unique voice, brought memories rushing to the surface. 

Waiting by the ticket booths. Photo by Jessica Knauss 

I don’t know how long we waited, but in the end Stanley’s phone missed a couple of calls, and finally I called Marta back (the cost, the cost!) and she told us to go to the gates near the ticket booths, and someone would come for us. We waited there a while longer, and finally here came a burly guy who was born to be a bodyguard, whose name, I would later find out, was Miguel. We came through the barrier under the astonished looks of other people hanging around, and Miguel was asking us how we were doing, and I translated for Stanley, and “bien” didn’t begin to cover it. 

Have I entered an alternate universe of happiness? 

Oh, the giddy sense of … not quite anticipation because who knew what was going to happen? We were at a Manolo García sound check! I never imagined I would be somewhere so wonderful in my life. We met Marta in the hallway (the outer circle of the bullring) and she hugged and kissed us and seemed just as nice as on the phone. Miguel walked us out onto the sand and put us in the shade on the edge of the sound and light boards setup. I was just kind of smiling at everybody and the musicians were hacking away at songs I’ve known like the back of my hand for years and years. Lots of people rushing around, testing the video monitors, and a sense of when is he coming? When is he getting here? Carmen, from the emails, came by and kissed us both and I said, “So happy to meet you,” while Stanley was disconcerted beyond belief. “That was Carmen!” I told him after the fact. He was astounded that I would know her by sight, and I realized I hadn't told him that Manolo’s sister is also a recognizable performer. 

Manolo García gives direction at the sound check, fourth from left,
wearing sunglasses. Photo by Jessica Knauss 

The murmurs began—He’s here. He’s in the building. A hush descended, overlaying the music. All six or seven of my bodily senses were attuned inexorably toward joy. Then suddenly Manolo, the man himself, an honest-to-God human being with the aura of a hundred angels, came onstage, just walking in like no big deal. He hung out with the backup singers on the side while they practiced "Una tarde de sol," then weaved around the instruments in the back, and came to the lip of the stage. With a big smile I had never seen in publicity photos, he gave us a big wave. 

It was an arrow of gladness through my heart. This would have been enough, and this just the first thing. Someone, probably Marta, had told Manolo García where we were and we occupied some tiny part of his brain space. Stanley and I waved back, and our smiles would have blinded anyone who was already smile-blind. 

A short time later, the sound check was over. Guitarist Ricardo Marín came down off the stage and exited through the front door, and the other musicians were clearing out. This is hard to describe because the whole world seemed to be on fire with joy. Who cared that it was late for lunch and everyone had an empty tummy? No one. 

Where we belonged 

I tried to figure out the moment when my reality broke in two and I officially entered this alternate universe in which such wonderful things are not only possible or likely but actually took place. This may be it: before the other musicians were quite gone, Manolo came down off the front of the stage and started walking toward us. Manolo García braved the blazing sand wearing dark sunglasses and arrived at the sound/light boards barrier in front of us. 

I had been hoping for the Southern European greeting of the two kisses on the cheek, I will freely admit. But he reached across and gave us both American-conscious handshakes. His hand was so soft! Silk, butter, velvet, I’m not sure evoking something unalive is appropriate for this vital being. The first amazing eloquent thing out of my mouth was, “¿Qué tal?” (How are you?) in a pitch I remember as too high. After greetings, with a warning that his English was not up to scratch, he started right in reviewing the first letter I wrote to him back in 2008. While I was paying attention, and even responded in Spanish, describing how I was in Spain without Stanley and someone stole everything important that I had, I had trouble believing that Manolo García had devoted any memory space to my little story, but the incontrovertible evidence was right there before me in the speech, the animated expression, and most of all, those eyes. 

Normal brown eyes more than 50 percent of the Earth’s population has, I’m sure he would protest. But that’s because he appears to have no notion of his own charisma or the effect he has on people. So much sincerity. Authenticity abounded. Here was a person who transmitted all his inner workings—his soul, if you will—through those humble brown eyes. And what a soul. Existing within that gaze was like being captured and cradled in a bubble made of energy I can’t describe except to say that it felt eerily similar to a blissful, life-saving dream I'd had ten years before. Just plain fantastic. A real dream come true. Remind me to tell you about that dream some time. 

Maybe I’m just an overly sensitive fan girl. Is this what all big fans feel? They say you shouldn’t meet your heroes, but wow, this guy was the opposite of a disappointment. One of the lines from “Campanas de libertad,” from his last album, says, “Life bursting forth exultant, I'm not going to disappoint you.” Prophetic. 

When the 2008 story reached a pause, he said, “Well, that’s in the past.” His last album title, Todo es ahora, translates to “Everything is Now.” Eckhart Tolle spent time in Spain, too. Those two gurus were in the same country. Imagine that hypothetical conversation. 

Manolo directed the questions at us. How did we like Spain (love it), how many times had we been (Stanley 3, me 10), and where had we been on this trip. I said we’d gone through Barcelona. Oh, those windows to his soul widened. “Did you like it? That’s my city,” he said. 

Stanley wasn’t too keen on Barcelona. We were still feeling some disappointment about Park Güell on the last day and Morella and Peñiscola had gone so much better, but my husband's customer service skills kicked in. “We loved it,” he said. It made me so happy. 

Why was no one filming this whole thing? Even in the moment, I wanted to capture it forever, because come on, when will something like this ever happen again? I was so thrilled to see my two living true loves talking together like buddies, and I felt the moment was right, so I said, “¿Os saco una foto?” (May I take a picture of you two?) 

We moved around so we were all on the same side of the barrier, the sand side, not the sound board side. I was keen to get the two guys together, but Stanley took the camera to get me and Manolo first. He was wearing one of those lovely shirts he wears that I wanted to buy for Stanley. I was too shy to put my arm around him, but he gripped my shoulder tightly. That’s right, never let me go! 

Famous author + famous recording artist = one great afternoon 

I posted that photo on Facebook even though almost none of my friends would know what was going on and got loads of likes. And then I posted it in the Manolo García group, and got just as many likes and one person who was envious: “I was in Valencia and I didn't get the chance to do that!” That’s the funny thing. I only had this opportunity because something terrible happened to me years before, and I had a great husband who insisted I write to tell Manolo all about it. And again years later to tell him we would be in Valencia. It was a case of asking and receiving. And having a compelling story. 

Manolo put his glasses back on while I insisted on taking the camera to get the guys together, and they were chatting away. I took a picture before they were ready, and that turned out to the best one. They’re standing together absorbed in the moment. So beautiful! 

Two pals in Valencia 

At that point it had been maybe ten minutes, and who would dare to ask for more than that? I thought it was about over, but it wasn’t! We walked close to the stage to get out of the sun and kept chatting. He was talking about how his songs are “pocket philosophy” and the kinds of messages in them (so many, so wonderful, IMHO). He knew I could understand, “But what I don’t understand is how can someone who doesn’t know Spanish…” I always knew that would be the real kicker, that Manolo García would want to meet my rara avis husband who listened to his songs on repeat without knowing anything they say. 

That sun is bright! 

Stanley said something elegant about how he can hear the emotional impact in spite of the language barrier, and that the music is beautiful, and, “You’re a good singer.” 

“Oh, thank you,” said the man with the magic voice. (And so well preserved, too! Like a fine wine, they say all over Spain.) I may have been reading into his quick-moving eyebrows, but he seemed surprised or taken aback. I'm sure it's such an assumed, obvious thing that no one had told him he's a good singer for some time. Leave it to my earnest husband to fill in a gap. 

We mentioned the CD with all the songs in the car, and in Spanish I said, “Sometimes he asks me, ‘What does this song mean?’ and I translate.” Or I tried, anyway. 

Other topics included where we were born, how he feels LA is fake, the time when they asked him to stay in New York and work on his English to cross over, but he said no, he’s happy in Spanish, Native American cultures he admires, living with Nez Perce in Idaho (What! When was that?), and lapsing into Spanish at one point because he was so into telling us how he felt about protecting the environment by adopting natural practices. I looked at Stanley and said, “Are you getting this?” and interpreted a little, but we quickly moved on to politics. Everyone present was in agreement. 

He’s a voracious reader (About a month after this encounter, he publicly said, "Happiness is being a voracious reader and raising chickens."), and he recommended Lucia Berlin's stories to me. (I asked for the collection A Manual for Cleaning Women at my local bookstore as soon as we got back, because when Manolo García recommends a book to you, you don’t not read it. It's as awesome as he said.) He was speaking Spanish again, about the importance of music and the other arts because of the world we live in, and I felt so accomplished that I managed to blurt, “Soy escritora también” (I'm a writer, too). 

“Oh, What do you write? Novels, plays…” 

“Novels,” I clarified, nodding my head so much it’s amazing it didn’t fly off. “My first came out two days ago” (I was being literal, remembering Awash in Talent's preorder status on May 24) “and the second comes out in December and is based on the legend of the seven noble knights of Lara.” 

A pause, as if he was never expecting to have to take in so much information. And then, “Es muy importante ese tipo de creatividad.” (That kind of creativity is really important.) He said more on that theme, but I was too blown away to remember. Manolo García said my writing is important. I have a responsibility not to let him down now. 

I think things were slowing down, and Stanley and I were just staring at him, smiling, and could have done that until the end of time. “No quiero cansaros…” (I don't want to wear you out), he said. 

Photo by Jessica Knauss 

“¡Por favor!” (Puh-lease!), I interjected, snapping another photo of him in the shade. Sometime during these lovely moments, fans gathered outside the side gate of the bullring. They could see their idol talking to two lousy Americans, and they shouted “¡Manolo!” and did the flamenco clapping rhythm from his most popular song, “Pájaros de barro.” I kept looking over at them, but he must get this all the time. He started apologizing that we couldn’t have that cup of coffee he'd promised me so long ago on a watercolor painting. When were we leaving Spain? 

“El lunes” (Monday), I said, dreading that horrendous eventuality. 

“In two days, I’m giving a concert in Sevilla. Can you come?” 

Utter astonishment. “No tenemos entradas.” (We don't have tickets.) 

“Doesn’t matter. I invite you.” 

What! Is this really the kind of thing that happens in Manolo’s reality? 

Yes. Yes, it is. 

“Right now,” he said, “I don’t have time, because I have interviews and things, but in Sevilla, I have nothing, so we can get together, chat, have wine, or coffee…” 

“Cola cao…” I said, amazed I could form any words with so much dopamine sloshing around in my head. I said “Cola cao” to Manolo García! It's the iconic Spanish chocolate drink, and it shows up in one of his songs from 1993. 

“Cola cao,” he approved. You can’t ask for rewards like that. 

Yes, yes, all nodding and happy smiles. Stanley and I didn’t commit to going to Sevilla, but we reveled in the invitation. 

And here came Marta. Manolo must've needed to be somewhere, but she smiled and waved at us as if we weren’t disrupting their whole schedule. She was speaking Spanish, and Manolo was still speaking English for Stanley’s benefit, and he told her to let us come in before the doors opened to the public at 7:30 that night so we can choose our seats tranquilamente, and that he’s invited us to Sevilla to be sure she can arrange it and I can’t remember much else because it was all welling to a climax. I recall him charmingly saying, “I wait for you…” and trailing off because he couldn’t figure out the verb construction. I know he meant, "I hope to see you in Sevilla." Lovely Spanish has no distinction between waiting and hoping. I was hoping for the two kisses on the cheek goodbye, but no, he shook our hands again in the American style. 

“Voy a saludar a esta gente” (I'm going to say hi to these people). He was referring to the clapping fans outside the gate. 

No, don’t leave. Don’t let this moment end. I felt ashamed of this selfish thought immediately. It had been the best half hour Stanley and I had experienced, and believe me, we knew about wonderful moments. It passed in the blink of an eye, as all the best moments do, and memory and gratitude remain. 

As soon as Manolo was a significant distance away, accompanied closely by Marta, Stanley looked at me and said, “He’s nice.” Always the understated one, my true love. 

I grabbed Stanley and hung on, incredulous. “Oh my God, so nice!” Words. They failed me. “Thank you!” I said. It was because of Stanley's insistence that any of this happened. I would never have written to my idol at all, much less twice, eight years apart. 

I took a picture of Stanley in the empty bullring and of the plants on the stage, then as we made our way out, I snapped a blurry one of Marta and Manolo standing at the bullring door, clasping hands with those fans through the bars. (How does he not pick up every disease known to humankind?) 

Manolo's face is so expressively dynamic, I think Stanley would have understood the gist no matter what language he was speaking. Watching the undulating muscles and the slope of certain angles, the only word I could think of was "creativity." Unbridled creativity. He seemed so much taller than I’d expected. Looking at the pictures, in which he seems normally proportioned, I'm guessing that was one more effect of his charisma. 

Stanley thought his English was perfect, and separately pointed out his humanity by saying that his temples showed greys and he needed another dye job. I think Manolo put the glamour on both of us: he struggled with English (delightfully, and I was thrilled to come to his linguistic aid) and Stanley couldn’t perceive it, while I thought his hair showed no signs of age. After we got home, Stanley made a point of showing me in videos that Manolo has a little bald spot in the back. “He’s human,” my darling husband said. Yes, he’s human, that’s the incredible thing. More than once I’ve come to the conclusion that a world with such a human in it cannot be a terrible place. 

From there, barely able to navigate the metro under the love-drunk influence of having my whole artistic life converge in one place, I started to feel we should be hounded by the press so everyone could find out what’s so special about us that we got such a magnificent gift. We retrieved the car and drove to the laundry. They were closed for siesta. I wondered if we would ever get our clothes. 

We returned to the hotel room to rest—as if!—in preparation for staying up late that night. I collapsed across the bed and Stanley was at the computer looking up how far it was to Sevilla and then Sevilla to Madrid, and hotels in Sevilla, and did I want to do it or not? I felt bad making Stanley drive so much because although I had no clue how much he must've been suffering, he seemed tired. And we would lose what we’d already paid for the next few days for our Valencia hotel, and the Sevilla hotel would be another expense, added to the all those phone calls with Marta! And there was the matter of not having seen much of Valencia and the whole reason we chose Valencia was so we could see Valencia, and it does seem worth a good visit. 

But that all pales in comparison to an invitation from Manolo García. Even while I was feeling, and Stanley agreed, that the half hour was better than anything anyone could ever have imagined, much less asked for, lying there, I made a conscious choice to abandon plans and live for the art of living. 

In the next posts: I'd been waiting more than twenty years to go to a Manolo García concert. Now I'm going to not one, but two? 

Catch up with the rest of the posts in this series here. 

Morella and Peñíscola: The Trip of a Lifetime, Part 8

Morella
Photo by Jessica Knauss 

This May 2016 trip was the first time I'd been south of Barcelona on the Mediterranean coast. I can now report that it has more marvels than can be counted; Stanley and I experienced two of them in detail.

Morella

We glided down the coast in the sunshine, then hung a right into the interior. We passed unique villages at every turn, Valencia orange groves, and terrace farms, until we twisted upon the sight of Morella with its castle grandly perched above a medieval town perfectly belted in by a medieval wall.

Morella came about because Stanley loved Frías so much in 2015. Frías is a pueblo más bonito in the province of Burgos. It was so beautiful our eyes metaphorically exploded, and Stanley couldn't stop talking about it for months afterward. "Let's live there! Let's remodel the castle and that can be our house."

Living like a queen published novelist in Morella 

Between telling him the plumbing project would be extraordinarily difficult and that I was willing, anyway, I planned our 2016 trip and saw that I might be able to outshine Frías with Morella because Morella has a fifteenth-century palace you can stay at! We were livin' large there in a room that looked grandiose but was still comfortable. According to TripAdvisor, it has the best showers in Spain! This royal treatment felt especially appropriate the following morning, when I awoke to Awash in Talent being ready for preorder. Yes, 2016 was turning out to be my year. I was staying in a medieval palace with my true love by my side, and I was a published novelist.

Photo by Jessica Knauss 

The castle at Morella was originally carved straight out of the rock by ancient peoples, and has been in continuous use for millennia. It participated in every major conflict that passed through the Iberian Peninsula, including the Napoleonic Wars. It's more than 1000 meters high, and Stanley and I took the winding path through town and all the way up. If you read the sad portion of the last post and saw Stanley's diagnosis, you'll know how extraordinary it was that he could keep up with me without showing the slightest sign of distress.

Here I am with the diagrams that explain the dance of death.
It's a round dance, a popular form in the Middle Ages. 

You get to the castle via a ruined Franciscan monastery, which has an extraordinary example of medieval wall painting that depicts the dance of death. This was a popular theme for all the arts in medieval Catalunya. It shows how everyone, from the pope to the poorest indigent, is equal in the eyes of Death. It's a great opportunity to look at how medieval society saw itself.

As you ascend the castle, you pass through history. You name it, it happened here. We saw barracks, parade grounds, the prison where they held a king, and views for days. It all culminates at the top, where they have the Plaza de Armas and the governor's quarters, which bring the trip full circle because they're inside a neolithic cave. There's plenty of material here for a novel series.

Slaying the dragon on the choir staircase, Basílica de Santa María 

Morella also has medieval churches with neverending wonders, whether the world-class organ, the staircase into which the artist sculpted a signature, or the treasury—up several back staircases so you have a long way to go if you're trying to steal something.

Life-sized model of Morelladon beltrani in a former convent where you can
still see traces of the Baroque paint job 

What's cooler than cool? A place that has its own dinosaur! Yep, Morelladon beltrani takes the first part of its mellifluous name from Morella. The dinosaur museum is housed in a former convent, so you get a sense of human history and truly ancient prehistory in one place. What a fantastic way to recycle.

One of the city gates; convent/dinosaur museum on the left 

We ate really well right on the street with our hotel and were able to sample Morella's signature pastry, too. Called flaó, it's folded into an empanada shape and filled with ricotta cheese, almonds, and cinnamon. It's so deliciously subtle, you could chomp through a whole shelf's worth without blinking.

The street with our hotel by night. Bona nit! 

Please do not go to Morella. It's one of the pueblos más bonitos de España, it has plenty of attractions and more shops and restaurants than I would've thought would fit comfortably in such a small space, and you can get anywhere on foot. But the best thing about it was that it felt like it was ours. We saw few tourists, and they all seemed to leave at about 7 p.m., leaving us to have dinner with locals and wander the streets with people saying "Bona nit!" to us as if we belonged there. I realized they were saying "Good evening" in Valencian, but the linguistic thrill was too distracting for me to say the same thing back, so mostly I waved and smiled. The coziness was such a relief after the crowds at Park Güell! So please, do not add to the numbers. Do not go to Morella.

We had a difficult time leaving this enchanted space. But more wonders awaited us, so we pressed on.

Peñíscola
Photo by Stanley Coombs 

Peñíscola

Peñíscola (pain-YEES-ko-la) has two claims to fame: the beach and the castle. The castle also has two big claims to fame: Papa Luna and some scenes from Game of Thrones.

The beach wasn't really our scene, so after we dipped our toes in the Mediterranean, we headed over to the castle. It's the kind of thing you don't need a map for.

Photo by Jessica Knauss

The solid, imposing, and delicately placed castle at Peñíscola was founded in the thirteenth century by the knights templar. When you visit, most of the practical fortress qualities come from this time. Its most famous resident, however, was Pedro Martínez de Luna, or Benedict XIII, Papa Luna, Spain's antipope. If you like antiheroes, as I think I must, you'll find his stubborn personality attractive.

The stern statue of Don Pedro in his papal garb greets castle visitors and passersby.
Photo by Jessica Knauss 

Papa Luna was a cardinal at the time of the Western Schism and tended to the flock throughout Spain and parts of France for the Avignon popes, or antipopes, as they're known. He was elected Avignon pope in 1398. His branch of the papacy was in decline, with most of the Christian nations refusing to recognize his legitimacy as they tended toward reunification with the Roman pope. He was offered a few different deals to resign and bring the Western Schism to an end. When he refused them, he was excommunicated... but he was his own pope, so I doubt he took that seriously. At that time, in 1417, he came to live at Peñíscola and there, he held onto his holy title with both hands until his death in 1423.

Photo by Jessica Knauss 

I had to admire his dedication to study: several large rooms in the castle were marked "library" or "study" and even his personal rooms (he had more than one place for sleeping to stave off assassination attempts) had lovely fifteenth-century bookcases open to the sea air. Is there something about scholars that makes them extraordinarily tenacious? Because I also admire his persistence and recognized it in myself.

Stanley was persistent, too, for the things that really mattered to him. We still had no news from our idol, Manolo García. You can bet he had me check every chance we got. Tick tock!

Catch up with the rest of the posts in this series here.